Vampire Innocent (Book 10): A Vampire’s Guide To Adulting

by Cox, Matthew S.

  I ended up taking a seat here on a curb in downtown Seattle to debate getting involved. One thought led to another, and hours disappeared. Some time ago, my brain shut off. I’ve been staring up at the stars for a while, admiring them. It’s nothing short of amazing, two whole months have passed where my life feels as normal as it can possibly be now. You’d think being killed would totally mess everything up, but it hasn’t been too bad. What-ifs are a devil’s pastime—something Mom says. I could spend years thinking about where my siblings and I would be if I hadn’t become a vampire or died, and not all the theoreticals are good.

  Total waste of time. Dwelling on the past won’t change it. One could say examining the past helps us avoid the same mistakes in the future, but I’m not exactly worried about another asshole boyfriend murdering me. However, vampirism comes with confidence. At least, it did for me. I’ve never been as timid as Sophia, but I’m definitely more like Sierra now. This version of me wouldn’t have quietly acted like she didn’t know Scott cheated and spent months attempting to work up the courage to leave.

  Wonder what he’d have done if I dumped him right in front of everyone?

  Ehh, knowing him, he’d have gotten furious at the embarrassment but been too cowardly to do anything other than slink away after yelling something lame about how I’d regret ‘doing that to him.’ He’d definitely have come after me later, though. Exactly what I hoped to avoid by doing it somewhere private and quiet. Figured if no one saw him ‘lose,’ he wouldn’t freak out. Yeah, really worked out for me, didn’t it?

  I exhale, fluttering my lips.

  But, what-ifs aside, things right now are pretty cool. Surprisingly normal—at least they’ve been so for the past few months—and looking promising. All I have to do is keep my head down from a vampire politics perspective and enjoy being with my family while I can. Life almost feels ordinary. Except for the weird deep voice coming from Sam’s closet at three in the morning.

  Did I mention he’s made a new friend? The boy’s been sparse on details, only saying they had to ask something to help detox Ronan from the slug venom. When Blix mentioned the paralysis would wear off ‘soon,’ he spoke like a demon—meaning immortal, not evil. They don’t have a real solid grip on the concept of time. Had they not sought outside help, Ronan would’ve been able to move again in about four years. So, yeah… Sam made the right call agreeing to let Blix call in backup.

  Neither my brother nor the imp appear overly concerned about this new entity, so I’m not panicking about it… yet. Another good sign: Coralie hasn’t shown up to warn me of calamity. So, my little bro has two demons in his room now, even if one is only a closet voice.

  Staring up into the infinity of outer space gets me wondering if life exists on any other planets. My Dad thinks it’s a mathematical certainty life exists somewhere else. Considering the size of the known universe, Earth is like a single grain of sand on all the world’s beaches. Humans, our entire civilization and planet, are seriously insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

  If there is life on some other world, would there be vampire aliens?

  “Only in a Uwe Boll movie,” I whisper.

  Where did vampires even come from? If magic exists on Earth, it must exist everywhere. Our planet isn’t the center of reality. It shouldn’t sound so late-night-movie cheesy to think of alien vampires, but it does. Is that specist of me? Is specist a word? Species-ist? Bleh.

  Some activities are a waste of time. Trying to understand where vampires came from is about as futile and pointless as searching for an answer to ‘why are the Kardashians famous?’ Worse, discovering the answer won’t affect the world.

  Despite me nearly dying nine months ago, my family is almost back to normal. The siblings and I have managed not to fall back into our old ways of bickering constantly, though the Littles do occasionally argue about typical kid things. We wouldn’t really be considered ‘normal’ otherwise.

  Sierra’s enjoying the heck out of sword lessons. Admittedly, her interest came from the expectation she’d have to fight imps or vampires or some other real monster, but she’s in a phase now where she’s talking like she wants to make a career out of sword fighting. Aside from being a stunt person or actor in a medieval reenactment place, I have no damn idea how anyone could turn sword skills into a job. She’s getting close to twelve, too. Still young. Good chance she’ll change her mind about what to do for a living another dozen times before she truly needs to make a choice.

  As far as Sophia goes, she’s visiting the mystics twice a month in person as well as having an occasional video call. Weird, right? Studying magic via technology. She’s not exactly cramming to become a master ‘wizard’ by the time she’s out of eighth grade, but it’s holding her interest. Well, duh. What kid wouldn’t be enthralled by magic?

  One of the weirder things to happen to me thus far is being given a sack of gold. Apparently, leprechauns really like it when you don’t try to steal it from them or otherwise attempt to trick them out of it. Who knew? Mardle had been so astonished at me completely disregarding any mention of his having gold, he gave me some. In the interest of full disclosure, I will say the thought never occurred to me for him to have gold in the first place. Between my brain spinning in circles over Sophia’s abduction and encountering such wild creatures, the only thought on my mind at the time had been getting my sister back and going home safe. I barely managed to accept the truth of what I experienced at all, forget trying to squeeze the little guy for money.

  So, stuff happened.

  ‘Stuff’ being me acquiring a small fortune. It’s not the sort of fortune where I could run out and buy a mansion, yacht, or whatever and forget ever worrying about money ever again. But, to a girl whose most outlandish future plans entail finding a way to live in my current house as long as feasibly possible, it’s an astounding amount of money.

  Enough for me to buy my parents a Christmas gift of a vacation to Iceland. During November and December of last year, Mom got stuck dealing with a truly demanding case at work. I basically ordered her to take a vacation before she cracked, and as luck would have it, the means to help her do it more or less fell into my hands.

  I didn’t think anyone would want to visit Iceland in January, plus needed to give the parents some time to prepare. They’re leaving tomorrow. Originally, I signed them up for a one-week trip, but Mom worked out an itinerary after poking around online and ended up adding a few more days. So, they’re flying back on Wednesday instead of Sunday.

  Sophia’s going to turn eleven on March twenty-second. The ’rents will be home on the fourteenth—assuming nothing goes wrong. For a little while, we’ll have two eleven-year-olds in the house… until Sierra turns twelve in April.

  I’m having a Schrodinger moment. Eleven feels simultaneously forever ago and only a few years. Eight years is, to a vampire, nothing. To a nineteen-year-old, it’s a significant portion of my existence. I do kinda miss the way my life was uncomplicated back then. All the stuff I used to worry about as if it was the end of the world is laughably trivial to me now. Grr. If anything stinks about becoming a vampire, it’s how I keep thinking about crap like this. When they tell people to ‘act their age,’ they’re usually trying to get someone to be more mature. I need to act my age in the other direction.

  Oh well. No point dwelling on anything. I’m going to enjoy my new reality. Being frozen at eighteen is cool. Definitely going to get weird in thirty or forty years, but I can mitigate problems by not doing dumb things—like interacting with people.

  The crunch of tires on my right announces the approach of a car creeping around the corner.

  I glance over at a police cruiser, the guy behind the wheel is—naturally—staring right at me. Good cue, it’s about time for me to go home. He pulls around the corner, stopping right in front of me as I stand. Since he’s facing the wrong way in the oncoming lane, he turns on warning flashers, then rolls his window down.

  “Hey,” says the cop. “Are
you okay?”

  He’s thinking I’m sixteen, probably a runaway. Ugh. I really need to stop letting it bother me when people get my age wrong. Don’t want to end up a monster a few centuries from now with a hair-trigger temper who rips people’s throats out every time they call me a kid. Zen, Sarah. Try Zen.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me. Taking night classes at SCC. Was just on my way home.”

  “It’s almost three in the morning. A bit late to get out of class.”

  “Oops.” I offer a cheesy smile. “Got stuck stargazing. Really, I’m fine.”

  A light mental prod convinces him nothing’s wrong here and sends him on his way. No point wasting his time. Someone elsewhere in the city might actually need his help. I watch the police car go until he turns another corner out of sight, then wander into a dark patch away from any light sources. Confident no one’s able to see me, I leap into the air and orient myself toward home.

  I’ve done some wild stuff since becoming a vampire, but the next eleven days are going to be scary. For a little more than a week, I’m going to be the adult in the room.

  Yay me.

  We are so screwed.

  7

  A Much-Needed Vacation

  Saturday decides to play nice.

  Meaning, it’s overcast without actively raining. At least, according to my phone it is. I can’t see much since I’m stuffed in a plastic cargo bin. Judging by the vibration and rumbling, I’ve been loaded into the back of Mom’s Tahoe already and they’re on the road.

  Due to my schedule, my parents are taking an afternoon flight out of SeaTac. Takeoff’s at 3:50 p.m. Seven or so hours later, they’ll land at like six in the morning in Reykjavik. Flying across time zones is weird. Like, different places on the Earth all exist at different times despite time being a constant. If one could fly westward fast enough, it would technically remain the same chronological time as long as they kept going. The date would change, but it would, for example, appear to be 5:00 p.m. infinitely. Not sure how fast someone would have to go, but it’s probably something ridiculous like a thousand miles an hour. A bit out of reach of a commercial plane, and way out of my personal reach.

  It might make for an interesting experiment on vampire sleep, but no aircraft in existence could fly continuously past Mach 1 long enough to see if holding the sun hostage on the opposite side of the Earth would keep sleep away. Also, it’s really not worth it. Such information would never be practically useful.

  Yes, I am a nerd. Or at least sort of a nerd. A true nerd would work out the exact requirements for the experiment and probably know off the top of their head how fast the Earth rotates.

  Anyway, we need to be at the airport soon enough for my parents not to miss their flight… which meant I sacrificed comfortable sleep last morning. It’s not much of a sacrifice since I take the idiom ‘sleep like the dead’ way too literally. Curling up in the cargo bin sucked for a few minutes, but once sunrise knocked me out, it no longer mattered. So what if I’m fully dressed, folded in half with my knees in my face?

  A gentle push at the lid fails to move it. Not too surprised. These bins have plastic clamps to hold the lids on so they’re weather tight. It’s probably dangerous for a person to crawl into one of these, but I don’t need air.

  The entire point of the cargo bin was to allow my parents to leave the house early enough not to miss their flight. We all expected I would wake up on the way to the airport or shortly after arrival. Next Wednesday when they return, there’s no need for us to stress out over my schedule. The ’rents can hang out at the airport after their plane lands waiting for me to get out of bed since they won’t be chasing a takeoff deadline. Besides, it’s extremely difficult to drive from inside a giant plastic storage bin.

  I knock on the side. “Hey, I’m up. Unless it’s nuclear, let me out.”

  A moment later, weight settles into the lid.

  “What’s it worth to ya?” asks Sierra.

  “I didn’t realize how desperately you wanted to enroll at Sophia’s dance studio and wear pink unicorn leotards.”

  Sierra gasps. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Sarah,” calls Mom. “Don’t threaten your sister with mind-control.”

  “Kidding,” I yell. “Please open the lid.”

  Clunking accompanies the six clamps popping open one after the next. The bin is plastic, so I could’ve broken my way out easily. However, only an idiot destroys potentially needed shelter. Sierra pulls the lid away, exposing me to a blast of uncomfortable heat, then bonks me over the head with it when I sit up. It’s not really 110 degrees out, merely feels like it to me.

  “Dork. You know I’m only teasing.”

  “So was I about demanding tribute for your early release.” She laughs, tosses the lid aside, then scrambles over the seatback.

  I climb after her, squeezing between Sam and Sophia. He’s the youngest, but the girls prefer being near windows and he doesn’t care. The four of us fit in reasonable comfort. Once again, yay Dad genes. In another few years, we won’t be able to share the back seat, at least not comfortably.

  Mom’s driving; Dad’s watching traffic.

  My timing is near perfect. Within two minutes of me waking up, we arrive at the airport. It is a little bright at the moment, but nothing a hood and sunglasses can’t handle. Mom pulls up to the drop-off area. Dad and I unload their bags. The Littles unpack themselves, and we all stand there waiting for Mom to find a parking space in short term.

  Sophia’s clinging to Dad, which means she’s upset at the idea of them going away for a week. The ’rents haven’t taken any sort of vacation without us ever before—well, during the time any of us kids existed—so she’s frightened at not having them around. Sierra is looking forward to what she expects will be a lawless twelve or so days where she can swear all she wants, stay up as late as she wants, and eat fast food every day. As far as Sam is concerned, it’s Saturday. He isn’t showing much of any reaction to the trip—except for wandering into my room the other night and asking me what we’d do if ‘something went wrong’ with the plane and our parents never came home.

  Ugh. As if I needed that to worry about.

  Eventually, Mom appears walking back across the lot. She hurries over to us and we go inside as a group. The parents check in, get their boarding passes, and we deal with the tedious process of going through the security screening to the terminal, arriving at 3:16 p.m. Closer than Mom would’ve liked, but still plenty of time. The airline is probably going to start boarding soon. We actually made it through security surprisingly fast.

  Yes, I splurged on first-class tickets.

  I’ll never waste money on a mansion or Lamborghini or anything ridiculous, but I couldn’t justify not getting them nice seats. Not like I scraped and saved and barely afforded the trip. They deserve a nice vacation from the daily grind. Just hope there’s a house to come home to.

  Knowing my luck, all the normality of the past few months has been the proverbial calm before the storm. Sophia’s going to sneeze in the middle of magic practice and teleport the entire house to Mars or something. Or the deep voice in Sam’s closet is Mephistopheles, and he’s going to drag us to the inferno.

  One of the Eighties movies Dad showed us, The Gate, was about the parents going away for a few days. When they’re gone, the kids accidentally summon demons, resulting in their entire house blowing up, only a giant crater where it used to be. This is too on-point. I’m a few years older than the ‘big sister’ in the movie, but our parents are going away and at least two literal demons are in the house. No dog, but we do have a cat. Sorta. Not sure it’s possible for Klepto to die.

  Ugh. Good thoughts. Think good thoughts. I am not going to fail so epically at babysitting our house ends up in Hell.

  We sit in the waiting area at the terminal. Sophia’s still being clingy but isn’t acting upset. Sierra and Sam are both absorbed in portable electronics. I stuff my hands in my hoodie’s pockets and hunker down
against the seeming hundred-degree temperature in the room. Giant windows overlooking the runway area don’t help. It may be overcast, but sitting here is as good as being outside from a daylight standpoint.

  A few minutes into our wait, I notice a young guy—can’t be older than twenty-five—suspiciously hovering near a bank of seats beside a column. It looks like he’s hunting for a victim to rob. Curious to see what he does, I keep watching him. The guy pulls something out of his jacket pocket, crouches, and fusses at the column for a moment before casually walking a short distance away and taking a seat. It doesn’t occur to me he did anything weird until he pulls out a cell phone and starts recording video of the column. Takes me a moment to realize why he’s videoing.

  The dude put a fake electrical outlet sticker up.

  Wow. People really do this stuff?

  I cover my mouth to hold in a laugh, and sit there waiting for his first victim. Airports are notorious for not having public electric outlets. A sticker is kinda cruel, but it’s hilarious. It’s not long before an Asian woman spots the fake plug and hurries over. She takes the seat closest to the column—and plugs her smartphone charger in.

  Say what?

  I gawk.

  The prankster dude stares open-mouthed. If WTF had an entry in the dictionary, it would be this guy’s face right now.

  “What the hell?” I whisper.

  “He’s trying to play a mean joke,” says Sophia.

  I slow-turn my head toward her. “Did you seriously turn a sticker into a real outlet?”

  She shrugs. “I dunno. Tried to. Not sure if it worked.”

  “The woman’s still sitting there, so it must have.” I’m not sure how to react. Did my sister do something wrong? Only the one guy who tried to play a prank has any idea something bizarre happened… but he’s also recording video. “When she’s done, you need to turn it back. The guy’s making a video. You can’t let anyone capture proof of weird stuff or the PIBs will show up.”